


Mister Fixter

by Neo



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-13
Updated: 2009-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-11 16:52:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neo/pseuds/Neo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this brave new world of brave new superheroes, Adrian Veidt is a blessing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mister Fixter

The second time they fight together, Dan has to shove down the jealousy before it can get the better of him. There are some people, he reminds himself, better suited to this job than guys like him—professional athletes come to mind, as do tenth-degree black belts; none of the other Crimebusters really fit the bill. In this brave new world of brave new superheroes, Adrian Veidt is a blessing.

They stand in a street wiped clean of filth. Dan has just helped the police lieutenant put the finishing touches on his report. When he turns around, Adrian is looking him over carefully. 

"You did very well," Adrian observes.

Dan blinks. "Not as good as you," he says. "I got a little tied up with the topknot guys back there, you saw it."

"I did." Adrian pantomimes a left hook. "It would have gone much faster, had you not missed that man's solar plexus the first time. Very unfortunate."

Dan can't help the curl of his lip. What kind of superman is it, he wonders, who can drag such minute flaws into broad daylight? The job got done.

"Those goggles," Adrian continues, "are they not prescription?"

Dan blinks again.

Adrian outstretches his hand. "If I may," he says smilingly.

 

* * *

 

Adrian is pointing out the tiniest of gears with a pair of tweezers. "The same mechanism that allows you to trace thermal signatures only needs slight alterations," he says, "to lock onto unique signatures. That would be something, would it not? Being able to identify people at a glance. Ah, and unless I have been improperly informed, you already have an extensive database on friend and foe alike; that must be useful, imagine being able to access that data anywhere...

"Oh," he says. "It must also be useful to see properly." 

He smiles and stands. "New lenses, perhaps," he says. "Would you like a drink?"

(Of course Dan says yes. Rorschach never hesitates to inform Dan that his politeness is, at times, crippling.)

 

* * *

 

When Dan knocks on the door to Adrian's flat a week later, it's almost a full minute before Adrian greets him. Adrian opens the door with one hand weaving through his hair and an almost sheepish smile on his lips. Ozymandias out of costume is a sight to see—while Dan only has a mild appreciation for the male aesthetic, it doesn't take a gay man to realize that Adrian Veidt is a good-looking bastard. He's male model material even in a silk shirt and slacks.

"Come in, come in," Adrian says cheerfully. "Your goggles are on the coffee table. I was able to call in a favor—I know a man in a research facility in Cairo, you see, who crafts the sort of lens that goes on satellites."

"Cairo?" Dan echoes, wondering both about the scope of Adrian's social network and the gilded gold hanging from the walls. Egyptian metallurgy, he realizes—the stuff looks taken straight from a museum. "Wow." He shakes his head. "Listen, Adrian, I think it's great that you've been helping me out with this. I'm always looking for ways to do better by the Crimebusters."

"Of course you are," Adrian says mildly. "I would not be so eager to assist otherwise. Now—my friend sent three sets of lenses; I chose the one that seemed to best suit your prescription, but in the event that I am wrong..."

Dan nods and picks up the goggles. When he slides them on, there's a quiet _fzzt_ before everything flares to life in shades of green. For a few seconds the world is faintly blurry, as it always is. Then he hears another _fzzt_ and everything falls into sharp focus. It happens so quickly that Dan has to blink a few times to make sure he isn't just kidding himself.

"Holy crap," he says.

Adrian beams at him. "It works?"

"Perfectly. Just—wow."

"The settings are adjustable," Adrian points out. He lifts a hand to the goggles and touches his fingers to a tiny button. "My friend sent a letter detailing the magnification functions." He looks politely up at Dan; their proximity and the zoom on the lens draws Dan's attention to how the corners of Adrian's mouth have fallen flat. "Are you busy tonight, Dan?"

"Um," Dan says. "No, not particularly."

"Then I would have you stay," Adrian says, "for further discussion. And drinks, perhaps."

A voice in Dan's head informs him this is not a good idea. The voice sounds suspiciously like Rorschach.

"Sure," Dan says.

 

* * *

 

"Fuck," Dan says. "Oh, fuck."

"No need to be crass," Adrian murmurs sternly. Or—well, he's trying to sound stern, but mostly he just sounds focused. That's new, Dan thinks blearily. The last women he could recall who'd had their hands on his cock had never seemed so intent. That might be why it feels so goddamn good.

But that's doing Adrian a harsh disservice, really: Adrian settles for nothing less than mastery of all things he attempts. His fingers are immaculate and slender on Dan's cock, and they're working to give Dan what will probably be the best orgasm of his life. 

He should probably be more disturbed, if only because he's seen Adrian's hands snap bones and subjugate men twice his size. He thinks there's something inherently wrong with this—not just because he isn't gay, but because there's too strong a disconnect between the Ozymandias that cripples people for life and the Adrian who's jerking him off right now. It should be impossible, Dan thinks, for two things so different to coexist in the same space. The same body. But Adrian Veidt is nothing if not enviably impossible. 

Adrian's fingers are white on Dan's blood-flushed cock, stroking and squeezing in turns, a manicured fingertip brushing roughly over the head. Dan digs his own fingers into the sofa and comes explosively in Adrian's hand; his thoughts are scattered and running a mile a minute, but all he can say is, " _Adrian_ —"

 

* * *

 

"Can you see?"

Dan swallows and taps the button on the side of the goggles. "Yeah," he says. "It works."

He thinks he's still a little drunk. He's not sure why he hasn't left yet. The only thing standing between him and some dangerous thoughts is his exhaustion. 

"How about the thermal imaging?" Adrian asks softly. He sounds as calm as he did before he climbed into Dan's lap. But he looks distracted now, miles away even though he's only standing on the opposite side of the coffee table, sipping champagne and staring at a painting on the wall.

Dan taps the button again and the world flares into technicolor. The lights are hot orange and the marble sculptures a cool blue. He looks at his own hand, where warm blood beneath his skin makes his fingers look bright. But when he looks up at Adrian, the colors seem oddly subdued in comparison.

He watches the play of Adrian's fingers on the stem of the champagne glass, and the slight flush staining his cheeks.

Dan doesn't know what to think. He defaults to honesty. 

"Yeah," he says. "It works fine."


End file.
